


Shadows in the Spotlight: From Jared's Personal Journal - What Happened at Tino's Bar

by vega_voices



Category: Original Work, shadows in the spotlight
Genre: Character Study, M/M, character journal, character posting, pubslush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-28
Updated: 2012-03-28
Packaged: 2017-11-02 15:12:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/370369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vega_voices/pseuds/vega_voices
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I recognized Tony, that was easy. But it was the gangly kid with the guitar who grabbed my attention. He couldn’t have been a day over eighteen and moved with a quiet, easy confidence that was completely enthralling. His eyes were shadows in the spotlights. His waist-length black hair shimmered in the smoky light. He had no nerves, no questions. He knew why he was there and the crowd could follow his lead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shadows in the Spotlight: From Jared's Personal Journal - What Happened at Tino's Bar

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the music of Queensryche, Iron Maiden, Queen, Metallica, Judas Priest, and more - Shadows in the Spotlight is the story of Marc Gadling, a young musician who is navigating the waters of the emerging metal scene in Los Angeles, the gay counter culture in the city, and the rising fears of what came to be known as HIV/AIDS. It tells the story of his family - the brother who loves him unconditionally, the lover who dies too young, the best friend who is the silent sentinel, and the young prodigy who proves that even after death, there is life. 
> 
> Here's how it works. Shadows in the Spotlight is available for pre-order on pubslush.com. Pubslush is a social publisher that allows the reader, not the editor, to chose what is read. Authors place the book on the site, and you, the reader take a gander. If you like what you read, place a pre-order as a promise, a promise that you will purchase this book once it is made available to buy. In addition, for every book that is published, pubslush donates a book to child literacy programs around the world. The thing is, this book cannot get published without your pre-order. If you're wondering what you're getting, Shadows in the Spotlight has a proven track record. An excerpt was published in the 2010 QSalt Lake Literary edition and it won the Honorable Mention in the 53rd Annual Utah Arts Council Fiction Writing Compeition (2011). 
> 
> For the past 30 days, support has been growing. But it isn't enough. 959 preorders are still needed in the next three months to secure publication. If you like your books peppered with heavy hitting doses of rock music, fairy tales of boys who make it big, and stories of how family is formed through passion and not blood, take note of what Shadows in the Spotlight has for you. 
> 
> Pre-order here: http://www.pubslush.com/book/view/198

Tino’s bar was a favorite of the underground – and of mine. When so many bar owners were segregating and not allowing for any openly gay behavior in their establishments, Tino really didn’t care. He didn’t stop fights but he didn’t do anything to start them either. He expected people to police themselves and if they were going to be blatant about who they were fucking, they had to accept the consequences. As a result, people mostly mixed and mingled, drank, bent gender, and the back room had been used by me (and many others) on multiple occasions. It was nice to just have a bar. No one cared either way. We were all there for the same reason. 

 

That night, Tino was hosting his Sixth Annual SMASH Battle of the Bands. Don’t ask me what the SMASH stands for. I don’t even know if he knows. I was a fan of the event – it was there I’d found many of our more successful acts. Nodding to the bouncer as he waved me in, I made my way through the masses pressed into the smoke-filled bar. One of the assholes from Capitol was already there, trying helplessly to blend in but even his jeans and black t-shirt couldn’t erase the smell of corporate greed. I spotted the guy from Roadrunner across the room and we shared a nod. They weren’t all evil and while I hated losing acts to them, they at least understood the culture in which they were operating. But it was Boy from Capitol who somehow caught my ear. “Heard you were sick, West.”

“Last year. Thanks for giving a shit. Were you the one who sent the dead flowers?” 

I have to give him credit for ignoring my sarcastic jab. There’s just something about the corporate types that turns me into a catty bitch. “Can Skid handle you being out like that?” His voice was dripping with sarcasm. 

Okay, so he wasn’t totally ignoring my attitude. 

I wanted to tell him to fuck off. I wanted to launch into some lengthy diatribe about the evils of corporate record companies but I knew my words would fall on deaf ears and he’d remind me just how much money they were making and because of the grip they had on the world they were able to bring music to the masses. Sadly, he was right. I did mutter something about how groups like Capitol would be the death of the genre but lucky for both of us, the first band came out on stage.

No thank you. I already had one Led Zeppelin sound-alike and after the death of John Bonham and the breakup of the band that had changed my life, I didn’t feel like signing another. Savior Disaster was doing just fine. 

The second band sent irritating shivers up and down my neck. The crowd was not yet drunk enough to appreciate the little talent they did have and while they struggled through their three-song set, I checked the schedule. 

Monster was next.

Thank God.

I watched them set up. Four skinny kids who could be plucked right out of a “metal boy” lineup. Long scraggly hair, ripped black jeans, greasy band t-shirts, and attitudes that were almost comical. 

I recognized Tony, that was easy. But it was the gangly kid with the guitar who grabbed my attention. He couldn’t have been a day over eighteen and moved with a quiet, easy confidence that was completely enthralling. His eyes were shadows in the spotlights. His waist-length black hair shimmered in the smoky light. He had no nerves, no questions. He knew why he was there and the crowd could follow his lead. 

He was, most definitely, the force behind Monster. 

My interest definitely piqued, I leaned forward, listening, waiting … and it was the biggest orgasmic letdown of my life. The first song opened with a scattered instrumental that went on far too long and while half of the guitar parts were interesting and the bass was as good as I knew it would be, they were nothing I would even think about signing. Maybe if their drummer could actually count and the rhythm guitarist knew how to play his instrument they might be worth working with, but as they were, it wasn’t worth my time. 

But then that lead singer opened his mouth. 

Oh the band sucked, don’t get me wrong. But he carried them. He made it work. He cranked it out in a voice that was completely incomparable to anything I’d ever heard and I was used to listening to Bruce Dickenson and Rob Halford. How on earth did pipes like that fit into such a scrawny body? 

By the end of the first song, I was in love. Not with the band but oh with that singer. 

By the end of the second, I knew Monster would go nowhere (even if the scouts would try to pick them up) but I knew, I just knew, that if I played it right, the band I had been dreaming of would fall completely into place. 

By the end of the set I was fidgeting and half-hard. As they unloaded their gear, I caught Tony’s eye. The other scouts, including Capitol Boy headed down to try and grab their attention, but Tony skillfully moved himself and the lead singer through the crowd to where I stood by the bar. It was then, after we’d established how much I really didn’t like the band as a whole, that he introduced me to that set of vocal chords.

“This is my kid brother, Marc.”

Face to face, something else became clear to me about Marc Gadling: he’d more than noticed the bulge in my jeans and was willing to help me sort out my problem. Poor Tony was left staring after us as I dragged Marc to that infamous back room. What endeared me most to Marc was actually not the skill of his mouth (though that went a long way) but his sudden fears afterward that I’d think he’d done that to get a contract. Oh, I had no intention of giving Monster a chance. I did have intentions of returning the favor he’d just bestowed upon me. When Marc eventually told me how he’d been paying the bills back in New York, his fears were completely justified. 

Later, much later, the first time I heard the Metallica tapes that were circulating, I would vaguely recall a band with that name performing at the battle that night. But, any professional regret always disappears whenever I look at Marc. I made the right choice that night. By the time I dragged myself through the door of my apartment, visions of Marc’s eyes still in my mind, I knew exactly what I was supposed to be doing with my life: Marc on vocals, Tony on bass, Jason on drums, and me on guitar. 

I slept until ten, which on a scouting night was an early morning for me. I’m lucky my business partner shares my feelings about early mornings. Poor Traci. I don’t know if we’ve ever made it in before her. Rolling over in my empty bed, I found myself already missing someone who had never slept there. But I needed a shower and change and a cup of coffee before I started my plan in motion. So, half-dressed and nursing the first of many cups of coffee for the day, I picked up the phone and dialed Jason’s familiar number. At ring four, I remembered he had class but on ring five, before I could hang up, a very groggy voice cracked something about how if it wasn’t an emergency I should worry about my mother. 

I have to say that one of my favorite things about Jason Matthews is that for as much of a business man as he is, he also doesn’t believe that any respectable day really starts before noon. 

I really hope he didn’t fail that class he was sleeping through. 

But after the grumpy bear had calmed down, Jason woke up enough to agree to come by my place at seven. I tried rather unsuccessfully to shake off the previous night and made my way into my office where I spent six hours pacing and doing nothing until I finally gave up and headed home. After all, Marc was coming over. I had to do what all nervous, twitterpated people have to do when their crush comes over to their place for the first time: clean up.

By now the story is well documented. We’ve talked about how we all met at my place and how within an hour we’d written “Graveyard.” It was magical chemistry from the beginning, a chemistry that has never changed over the years. We’ve grown and changed, of course, but we are still working together on a nearly telepathic level. Egos clash and tempers definitely slow us all down at times, but we’re musicians. It’s part of the territory. How many songs in our library are causalities of fights Marc and I have gotten in to? I lose track. 

However, I’ve never talked about how I almost called the whole thing off because I was so scared we wouldn’t have chemistry or that the other guys would have too many issues with what Marc and I had already done. Mixing business and pleasure can completely backfire. I’ve never talked about how clearly uncomfortable Marc was when he saw the cross around my neck and the crucifix on the wall. We’ve all laughed about Marc’s drooling on my Les Paul but I’ve never talked about how he was the first person I ever let touch it. 

But, from the minute he walked through my door, it was like he was meant to be there, in my space.

Yeah, this is getting a little fairytaleish. Live with it. Here’s the nasty little secret: even metal guys are cheesy nerds who want to fall in love as much as the next guy. I wonder if we don’t appreciate it more when it happens to us, to find someone who operates in the same, shadowed, strange world as we do. It makes things just that much easier.


End file.
